


Love Lies Bleeding

by Azalea_Scroggs



Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Completely and utterly gen, Coughing, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Hanahaki Disease, Luke Skywalker Needs A Hug, Luke of the Camelias, Skywalker Family Drama, Trope Mash-Up, Tuberculosis-like symptoms, Tumblr Prompt, what else is new x)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-20
Updated: 2019-03-20
Packaged: 2019-11-26 13:05:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18180980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azalea_Scroggs/pseuds/Azalea_Scroggs
Summary: "7. Florist AU + 67. Character in Peril - Luke & Vader"Or, in which Vader finds a seventeen-year-old Luke in a flower shop and decides to take him as his apprentice...





	Love Lies Bleeding

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mokulule](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mokulule/gifts).



> Hey hey hey, no I am not dead and I haven't given up fandom :3
> 
> 1\. I'm working on Black Squadron! I have nearly revised all the chapters now, I still have a tiny bit of research and planning to do on Part 2 but I think mostly I'm on schedule! I hope hope hope to publish the next part mid-April!
> 
> 2\. I'm _also_ working on Sparrow but I don't have an ETA for that one, sorry. I promise I'm not taking a year on it though.
> 
> 3\. Thank you to [Mokulule](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mokulule) for the prompt, to [maedre13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/maedre13) for the plot twist idea, and to [SpellCleaver](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpellCleaver) for the title :)
> 
> 4\. This is a tumblr prompt, so it doesn't have much purpose beyond filling the prompt, also it's kinda kitschy sorry about that ^^
> 
> 5\. Please mind the tags, angst galore as usual (but no MCD this time!), I hope you enjoy ^^

He was nothing but a boy.

Vader couldn't have said how he felt when he realised that the bright, overwhelming presence in the Force he had chased across the galaxy to this little planet of the Mid Rim belonged to a scrawny blonde boy who couldn't be more than fifteen years old.

The boy watched him enter from the counter of the flower shop with a wary gaze. He was barely visible from the front door, concealed as he was from the countless bouquets and plants overwhelming the shelves. Vader came closer to him.

“Good morning, sir,” he said. “Can I help you?”

He was standing tall and looking him in the eye. Vader was impressed with the way he concealed his worry. No sentient being ever met him without fright, but this boy was doing an excellent job hiding it. He seemed alone.

“Are you in charge of this establishment?” Vader asked.

The boy narrowed his eyes. His complexion was pale, an effect reinforced by his black clothing. His limbs were slender and thin circles ran under his eyes; but in the Force, his presence was strong and thriving. Vader basked in his light.

This was the Force-sensitive he had felt, he was certain of it.

“I am, sir,” the youth said. His accent had a touch of Outer Rim in it. “Is there any problem with the shop? I made sure to pay all the Imperial taxes and fill the necessary paperwork.”

Vader looked him up and down, unmoving. The boy sustained his gaze.

“How old are you?”

The young man's expression darkened.

“I'm seventeen, which is old enough to inherit property and work on this planet. The Empire accepts –“

“I am aware of the Empire's rules regarding accommodation of local law,” Vader harshly waved, repressing the pang in his heart at the youth's words. Seventeen years old... that was the age his child should have been. Nearly reaching adulthood, and yet so young, a mere teenager.

The boy nodded, coughed, then came back to the bouquet he was making, which was primarily composed of white flowers looking like they were made of creased cloth. Come to think of it, many of the arrangements in the shop seemed to have the same flower in them, if in different proportions. Vader supposed the boy must be fond of it.

After he finished the bouquet, he looked at Vader again.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

“What kind of flower are these?” Vader asked.

The boy blinked, a strange expression crossing his face.

“Carnations,” he said. “Are you... looking for a bouquet?”

“No,” Vader answered. He pondered telling the boy of the true reason of his visit, then decided against it. It was too early; better to test him before, to assess his strength. “I have learnt of the recent change in ownership of this establishment.”

The boy pinched his lips. 

“Yeah, I took it on after my tutor died. The notary said everything was in order though...”

“Such matters are of no concern to me,” Vader retorted. “I am merely here to perform an ordinary inspection.”

The boy's eyebrows shot up, and he threw Vader a dumbfounded glance.

“All right,” he said after a couple of seconds. “Do you want a tour of the greenhouse or do you just want to see the books?”

Vader asked for the whole tour. He followed him in the large building of transparisteel, in which countless plants were growing, colourful and radiant. While explaining it all to him, the boy had somewhat relaxed, and Vader listened with a distracted ear as he talked of roses, of daisies, of pansies, and their planting necessities. In the middle of the flowers' flamboyant tones, he would have looked nearly bland if not for the obvious fondness he had for his job. His eyes were brighter, his gestures more animated.

His presence in the Force had expanded, too. Vader watched it and explored it, the boy unaware. He seemed completely untrained, and Vader wondered how no Jedi and no Inquisitor had ever found him before.

It was all the better for him. If he could keep the young man hidden, away from his master's prying eyes, that would make his plans all that easier.

“You seem to enjoy what you are doing,” he remarked as the boy finished to talk about the different kinds of orchids.

The boy shrugged, smiled.

“Yeah. Never pictured myself as much of a gardener before – I used to be a moisture farmer, wanted nothing more than to get out. But this is nice, I guess. Peaceful.”

“You have not always lived here?” Vader asked.

“Oh no,” the boy laughed shortly, then coughed. “I come from a desert planet. There sure weren't any flowers there.”

Vader crossed his arms, doing his best to avoid thoughts of Tatooine. That sounded all too familiar.

“What was your preferred career, then?”

The boy shifted on his feet and looked away, his smile wilting.

“Piloting,” he hurried to say. “Why do you want to know all that anyway?”

Vader probed him in the Force. He was wary but curious, his presence thrumming with life and restlessness. There would be no better time to make his offer.

“Because I have come for you,” he said. “You have a gift, young one, one I can help you nurture and grow, like you do for your flowers. Have you ever heard of the Force?”

That had been a rhetorical question. Unsurprisingly, the boy shook his head.

“It is a power present in all life, binding it and connecting it. Some of us are more sensitive to it than others; it makes us stronger, faster, more intuitive. You are very strong with the Force.”

The boy frowned.

“You must be making a mistake,” he said, bitterness in his voice. “I'm not fast, and even less strong. Even the people at the Academy said so when I applied.”

“No, I am not mistaken,” Vader said, taking a step forward. The boy tensed, but didn't move back. “Are your reflexes not better than the average person? Have you never found your intuition particularly strong?”

The boy thought, mindlessly stroking a tulip bud.

“I used to race with friends all the time back home. My stunts always impressed them,” he whispered. “Before... well, before I came here. And these flowers... My tutor used to say you have to talk to flowers so they can grow beautiful and strong. But I can _feel_ them,” he said. “They vibrate when they are happy, or when they need more sun or water. I never knew how I did that; he just said I have a green thumb.”

“That is the Force,” Vader said. “You have it like I do. I can teach you to understand it, show you how to wield its power.”

The boy looked up at him, his head tilted on the side as he considered his offer.

“I've always dreamt of going in space,” he confessed. “But I can't leave the shop...”

“That can be taken care of,” Vader said.

The young man bit his lip. He looked forlorn and lost, and Vader found himself holding his regulated breath for an answer.

“All right,” the boy finally said, with the first real smile Vader had seen on him yet. “I'll come.”

Vader held out his hand, and the boy took it.

~*~

It turned out the young man, Luke, was a quick study. He dove into the Force like a swimmer in water, understood its secret mechanisms more quickly than Vader had seen anyone do. He was clever and curious, always a question on his lips. Vader was immensely pleased.

The one thing he less than excelled at was physical work. His endurance was abysmal, and Vader had quickly understood why, despite his excellent reflexes and flying skills, the Imperial Academy had refused him. He couldn't run half a mile before being out of breath, and even lightsabre training sessions had to be cut short when his exhaustion took over. 

One day, after a particularly brutal work-out, Vader had questioned him about it. After a frustrating meeting with his officers, he had been in a terrible mood and had pushed his student ruthlessly, forgetting about his condition. They had barely duelled for fifteen minutes when Luke collapsed on his knees wheezing, barely able to breathe between the coughing fits racking his torso like spasms, his hands clasped against his mouth. Concerned, Vader extinguished his weapon and put a hand on the boy's back, waiting for him to catch his breath.

“What is the meaning of this?” he asked, more harshly than he intended.

The boy winced in pain and wiped a hand against his trousers, his other fist clenched shut.

“It's nothing,” he tried to downplay. He picked up his lightsabre and stood on shaking legs. “I'm fine now, I –“

“You are _not_ fine!” Vader roared. “Do you take me for a fool? I saw the state in which you were not a minute ago! I demand an explanation!”

The boy squeezed his eyes shut. His chest shook with one more repressed cough, and he swallowed before answering.

“I've had this ever since my aunt and uncle died. I worked in Mos Eisley for a while, I think that's where I must have caught it. No medic could tell me what it is. But I've been feeling better since arriving here, I swear,” he said, looking Vader in the eye. “I promise I won't let it come in the way of my training again.”

Vader looked at him for a while, thinking.

“It is certainly problematic,” he said. “You should have told me as soon as you started training. But it can be worked around. There are techniques to enhance one's physical ability with the Force than I can teach you. And you will see my personal medic regularly to monitor your condition. Is that clear?”

Luke grimaced, but didn't protest.

“Yes, sir.”

Despite his obvious displeasure, he obeyed. Vader started to work with him on the enhancement as soon as he could. Soon enough the boy could make it through an entire hour of training without a break. He started taking weight as well, his shoulders broadening, his arms and legs gaining muscle.

The medic, however, reported to Vader baffled.

“The scanner didn't pick up anything unusual, and his blood stream is all but normal,” he said. “At most does he show signs of slight anaemia, but that doesn't explain the coughing. My best guess would be a rare autoimmune disease, but I have never heard of anything of the sort. All I can do is prescribe him some food supplements to help with his deficiencies.”

It seemed to help, so Vader didn't bring it up again. He pushed Luke further and further, basking in his talent, always demanding more of him. The boy never complained, a shining star in the Force, moulded and shaped and every day sharper. He and Vader had similar interests, and Vader enjoyed teaching him military structure and ship logistics. The boy enjoyed it, too; his enthusiasm shone brilliantly in the Force.

Luke only rarely talked of his former life at the flower shop, although there was always a vase full of fresh carnations in his room, a token from his home. He was more open about his past on Tatooine. Now that his health was better, he was thinking about piloting again.

“Me and Biggs, we used to be the only ones able to thread the needle,” he said. “I've always dreamt of flying a snub fighter like my father...”

There was longing and wistfulness in his voice there, and his gaze was shining with something Vader couldn't understand.

“You are far more than a pilot,” Vader said. “Dwelling on the past is useless. You should focus on your training.”

Luke's face soured, a flash of disappointed resentment surged in the Force, and he looked down.

“Yes, my lord.”

He looked up again, and there was still this strange light in his gaze. He opened his mouth, closed it again, then took a breath and spoke.

“Have you ever thought about... family being out there, somewhere? Relatives, or... or children... parsecs away, who'd want nothing more than to meet you?”

Vader's chest constricted. He thought of his mother, so far away yet present in his dreams, tortured to death by Sand People. He thought of being separated of Padmé, dreaming of nothing but her during the war. He thought of his child, who was dead on Naboo, in his mother's womb, so far away.

“There is no one I would care to meet,” he snapped. “Inane questions have never served any purpose.”

For an unknown reason, the boy looked crestfallen at this. He didn't talk about his father afterwards, or even about Tatooine, to Vader's relief.

Luke. That was the name she had brought up when they had discussed these things, so long ago. With his blonde hair, his bright and daring smile and his intensity in the Force, the boy evoked memories long dead, ashes of a future he would never come to know.

He loathed it. The boy was just a tool, just a pawn necessary for him to overthrow his master. When that was done, he would discard him. That had always been the plan.

Vader gradually stopped asking him about himself. He stopped their evening conversations by the starlight, when they would talk about ship models and the sensations when one was in the air. He stopped bringing him datapads about history, physics and astronomy.

He didn't miss these things. All that remained was the training. It was all that mattered.

The boy started coughing again, but he did his best to make sure it didn't impede his progress, gritting his teeth through his pain and drawing on the Force to support himself. Vader forced himself not to care. Soon the boy would be ready; soon they could strike against the Emperor and he would no longer have any use for him.

But his illness bore a risk to his strength nevertheless, one they couldn't afford to take. So Vader kept sending him to the medic, hoping to finally understand what was wrong with him.

That wasn't the only threat to their plan, however. Once or twice, Vader had wondered if the Emperor had gotten wind of their intentions. It was becoming harder and harder to hide the hatred he harboured for him. He chafed at kneeling, balked at obeying, and the “yes, master” tasted like ashes in his mouth. 

He always was in a foul mood after such a call, and beyond caring whether it was fair to the boy to take it out on him when they had a session planned afterwards. 

“Faster,” he hissed after the boy had failed to block his blow. The young man flinched when the blade singed his shoulder, but didn't say a word. 

“You should be able to block this by now. You are _weak,_ ” Vader spat. 

He struck at the boy again, who intercepted it but fell sitting from the sheer strength and violence of it.

“ _Useless._ You will never be ready for our plan.”

The boy gritted his teeth, repressed a cough then stood up again, his muscles straining.

Vader lunged at him again, experiencing some feral satisfaction at seeing him struggle so. He was holding his lightsabre with both of his hands, leaning on the Force like he would on a crutch, and yet he was utterly powerless in front of Vader's merciless blows. 

Again Vader struck, again the boy's blade blocked his. Vader pushed forward, then flicked his wrist and lashed out. With a small cry, the boy tumbled on his side, his lightsabre escaped from his hand. Vader pointed the tip of his blade at the boy's neck, and he froze.

“Defeated. Again. You are pathetic, worthless.”

The boy swallowed, panting.

“Then why don't you take another apprentice if I'm so bad?” he snarled.

“Perhaps I should,” Vader retorted. He brought his blade forward. “Perhaps I shall kill you now and seek someone more suitable. You are _nothing_ to me.”

The boy's breath hitched, but he remained motionless, lying on the ground with the heat of a thousand suns in the glare he trained on Vader. Vader held his gaze, enjoying the swirls of the dark side, his obvious anger and hurt that mirrored his own frustration –

The boy pushed him through the Force, unbalancing him. Before Vader could do anything, he jumped on his feet and ran out of the room.

Vader remained on the floor for a few minutes, stunned. He raised a hand to his forehead, disoriented. Such a powerful blow, to send him to the ground like this... 

A flash of warning in the Force. _Luke._ Vader sprung on his feet and ran, seeking the source of the danger. If anyone dared harm him – if anything happened to him –

He stopped his frantic chase when he arrived in Luke's quarters. The room was empty and calm, and the boy was nowhere to be seen, even though Vader knew he was there. Why were alarms still blaring in the Force, urgency running in his veins –

He looked down. On the floor, next to his heavy boot, lay a white carnation flower. He bent down to pick it up.

A faint coughing sound came from behind the next door. Vader rushed there, his blood pounding.

Luke was kneeling on the floor of the refresher, bent forward with his hands on the tiled floor, his whole body shaking. His breathing was ragged and moist, and he swallowed with a moan. Around him, many of the same white flowers lay scattered on the floor. When he heard Vader enter, Luke looked up, sitting up on his heels.

“Go away,” he said, his voice rough. “Leave me alone.”

“Luke, what is –“

Vader was interrupted by the most violent coughing fit he had ever seen strike Luke. The boy's entire frame shook, barely supported by his arms.

“Go – away –“

Vader was to his side in one second. He sank to his knees next to him, took him by the shoulders to support him. The boy jerked, put his hands up to push him away, then heaved and bent forward again into Vader's arms.

Astonished, Vader looked down. One of his hands went down, took one of the white carnations that lay on his lap.

It dawned on him there had been none in the greenhouse, that day.

Luke let out a hysterical, feeble, wheezing laughter.

“Yeah, I know,” he rasped, “I'm spewing out krething _flowers,_ I have now idea what they are or where they come from –“

“How long?”

The boy glared at him, then looked down and sighed, surrendering.

“I told you. Tatooine. Mos Eisley. It's gonna be a little more than five years now.”

He coughed again, weakly, looking utterly exhausted. Vader's heart ached.

“I swear that place is full of the weirdest infections.”

Vader grasped his shoulders tighter.

“There is nothing that can be done?”

Luke shook his head.

“No. Nobody could help me. That's how I found myself on Joralla in the first place, I heard about a medic that could possibly help me. He couldn't, but I stayed anyway. I had nowhere else to go – I don't belong anywhere –”

Vader opened his mouth to ask one more question, but Luke started coughing again, more and more flowers leaving his mouth. His face was contorted in pain, his eyes squeezed shut. Vader held him, waiting for it to pass, feeling like it was lasting forever.

Finally there was a respite. The boy drew a strangled breath, managed to hold it in for a couple of seconds, then it started again.

“Luke, breathe,” Vader said, panic growing inside him, still holding him tightly. “Stay with me. Try to calm it down. Breathe.”

There was a white sea around them now, a good inch high.

At last, the fit calmed down. Luke sagged against Vader's chest, too tired to do anything else, groaning in pain as he tried to catch his breath.

“At least you won't have to bother killing me before searching for a better apprentice,” he whispered.

Vader's heart missed a beat.

“What do you mean?”

“Remember I told you I could feel flowers growing? Well, that thing, whatever it is, I can feel it inside me. It's like when I was a kid, searching the sky for my father and wishing he'd come to take me off-planet. I wanted it so much I thought I couldn't breathe –”

Another coughing fit. Vader put his arms around him, holding him against his chest.

“Luke. Don't try to speak. Focus on breathing, on stopping the coughing.” It was preposterous. He wasn't going to die. 

And yet he was looking weaker and weaker by the moment, his breathing more and more superficial. A particularly nasty cough racked his slender frame, and the flowers that came out of his mouth were striped with red. Vader's fear increased. His hand shot to his commlink, and he hurried to call the medic to Luke's rooms. 

The young man's eyes were closed, he was limply lying against Vader.

“Luke, _stay with me,_ ” Vader repeated, his voice growing more frantic than ever. What could he tell the boy to prompt him to fight? Something, someone he cared about? “Your father wouldn't want you to give up.”

“My father...” Luke murmured, “... never wanted me in the first place.”

Vader's eyes widened. That was an answer he hadn't expected.

“How do you know?” Vader said.

“You... you told me...”

Luke coughed again. A cold hand wrapped itself around Vader's heart.

“How would I know? Luke, answer me. Why would I tell you your father didn't want you?”

The boy opened his eyes at that, and looked up at him.

“You mean... you...?”

He took a shaky breath.

“My father... Anakin Skywalker...”

The cold spread in Vader's whole body.

“You are Anakin Skywalker's son?”

No. Impossible. His child had died seventeen years ago. It couldn't be...

_Have you ever thought about... family being out there, somewhere?_

Luke couldn't answer, groaning and coughing, drained of all his energy. 

Horror overcame Vader. Frantic, desperate, he searched him in the Force, grasped at his presence with all the feelings he couldn't express.

“No, Luke... Don't leave me. My son... Luke...”

A single bloodstained petal touched down on Luke's lip and didn't fly away.

Vader roared. It couldn't be over, it couldn't end like this. He lay Luke down on the floor, grasping at his commlink, ready to order someone here _now_ –

At long last, Vader's medic stormed in the room together with one of his assistants. Wracked with anxiety, Vader looked on as they resuscitated him and put him on a stretcher with a breathing mask on his face. He followed them as they transferred him to the medbay, refusing to leave his side.

He stood there, watching him as they worked on him, constantly brushing his presence in the Force to reassure himself he was still there.

He still had trouble to believe it. How could it be true? And if it was, how could he have been so _blind_ –

“My lord?”

He turned towards the medic.

“He is out of danger. Whatever impeded his breathing has disappeared. There remains lesions in his lungs, but they should disappear in the next few weeks if he doesn't overexert himself.”

Vader nodded, subdued.

“Did you find out what was affecting him?”

The medic looked back at Luke, something like pity on his face, then turned to face Vader again.

“I have no certainty, but I have found obscure tales of a similar pathology on Naboo,” he said. “Stories of a psycho-somatic illness triggered by strong feelings of perceived abandonment or rejection by a loved one. The disease is so rare mentions of it had always been thought of as poetry before, but with the apparition of this case the research could take a new direction.”

Vader looked at his son, lying unconscious on the bed, and a pang went through his heart. _Perceived abandonment or rejection._ So it had been him, indirectly, that had been the cause of his son's illness.

He brushed his fingers against the back of Luke's hand, which was resting on the sheets. That mistake would soon be rectified. Had he known of his existence, he would have torn the galaxy apart to find him. Luke's words, earlier in the day, still haunted him.

_My father never wanted me._

“Thank you,” he said. “Leave us.”

The medic bowed and left, and Vader came closer to his son's bed. He let himself be soothed by the regular sound of the heart monitor, reassured by the continued beeping of his son's life.

What a fool he had been. What a reckless and blind fool –

Luke's heart beeped faster, and Vader found himself clutching his hand, waiting as his son slowly regained consciousness.

“Father?” he slurred.

Vader's heart missed a beat at hearing the word, that word he thought he would never hear, that word he had risked never hearing...

“Yes, my son,” he said, squeezing Luke's hand. “I am here.”

“What happened?”

Vader kept quiet. There were too many things to say and yet too little words. How do you tell someone you had both believed them dead and nearly killed them? 

“Your... illness overcame you, for a moment,” Vader said. _It was the scariest moment of my life._ He didn't say the thought aloud. “The medics were able to bring you back.”

Luke nodded. “Yes. I feel better now. Stronger. I think I will be better able to keep up with the training.”

“There won't be any training for you in the following weeks,” Vader heatedly said.

Luke threw him a surprised look. Vader squeezed his hand tighter.

“Luke. I... wasn't aware of your existence. I thought you dead in your mother's womb. Everything I said... was in complete ignorance.”

Luke smiled.

“I know that now. I feel like a fool for assuming you knew.”

Vader opened his other hand, the one that wasn't holding Luke's, but which still contained one of the carnations flowers that had been striped with Luke's blood. He laid it on the bedsheets.

“If you will, I would like you to remain here by my side. As my son, rather than my apprentice.”

Luke's smile was blinding with joy and all the answer Vader needed.


End file.
